


Faltering Into Open Arms

by F_S_Hadknots



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, secondary characters have small roles but I couldn't do without them, this is more so about the fluff because I'm all about the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F_S_Hadknots/pseuds/F_S_Hadknots
Summary: The whole thing is absurd to Connor...The undercover assignment had gone well. He'd managed, somehow, despite the imminent threat of spontaneous combustion had he worked for much longer alongside Gavin and North.By all accounts, nothing's wrong and upper management (Fowler, among others) is pleased with the results. Yet, here the 3 of them are, in an interrogation room as accommodating as a slate in the morgue. Worse yet, Connor's body is stupidly mimicking symptoms of teenage panic.Yes, he knows Hank won't kill him. He knows Hank, with his measly human lungs, can't produce the decibels necessary to overwhelm the android's systems. But until now does he realize that having kept the older man in the dark was not the best decision he'd made recently. And so, he's terrified, feeling phantom sweat, only able to recall the pitying look Chris directed at him once he made the call to notify the infamously gruff Lieutenant.For the first time in his young existence, Connor is not looking forward to seeing his beloved father-figure.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 34
Kudos: 106





	1. The Unusual Suspects

**Author's Note:**

> So, just so you all know, I view/narratively utilize spanking as something completely non-sexual. For whatever reason, my brain's wired to enjoy this scenario strictly between an adoptive father & son, in the gentlest way possible (never any use of implements, OTK, and with plenty of affection afterwards)... Don't know why, but welp, I'm trying to talk to my shrink about why I like this so much ^_^ Point is, this is not meant to be kinky and it makes me happy for the Aftercare Reasons more than anything. 
> 
> If this is not your cup o' tea... read all of the wonderful non-CP fics out there featuring Hank and Connor in their fluffy familial roles :3
> 
> In any case, I mostly wrote this in a rush, so there'll be odd tangents/rambling :)

All three of the highly trained and formidable people stood together in the interrogation room, somehow feeling wronged to differing degrees. 

After all, in one way or another, each of them represented agency on behalf of justice and yet here they were, awaiting trial, however informal and off-book.

Gavin did his best to appear unaffected by any threat of looming repercussions, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, muttering curses with each glance at his watch. A no-longer-steaming mug of coffee lay abandoned, perched on a solitary stool.

North sat at the table, staring ahead at the mirror. She comfortably invited any onlookers to guess whether her blank gaze meant boredom… or daydreams of greater revolutionary measures – like perhaps barring nosy, human Lieutenants from interfering with legitimate means to dismantle a new ring of drugs dangerous to androids and humans, alike. 

‘Didn’t the old bastard understand?’ she wondered with no small amount of indignation.

A sudden spark of fierceness in her features made one of the officers on the other side of the two-way mirror fidget. Crossing her legs up on the table at their disposal, North purposefully laid back. Not two seconds later, a mouth twitch preceded a small pink bubble blowing in front of the usually stoic features.

The officers were becoming irritated with their own growing curiosity: did she have the gum all along? Could she even taste it? And why hadn’t she and Gavin come to blows already?

As for the third member of this motley trio… Connor seemed to be the only one concerned with his circumstances. Standing off to the side, somewhat absconded into a corner, the android detective exuded a thrum of barely suppressed nervousness.

Whenever idle, the young man was seen to play with his coin. But presently, the most Connor could do was fiddle with his cuffs and curl his hands, head slightly bowed and LED decidedly yellow.

The tension dripped like tar, its stifling air traversing the glass and reaching any witness, as a small group of officers were told to supervise the detainees until the proper authorities arrived. Privy to Gavin’s case, Tina Chen was one of the few who understood the details of this more-or-less covert undercover investigation. She was surprised to see Connor, though.

And she was more surprised, still, when the Lieutenant burst through the door of their partitioned area, expression betraying a potent mix of bewilderment and outrage.

‘Oh, shit,’ she thought. Gavin had officially enlisted Jericho’s help for this assignment. But Connor had obviously been a last-minute inclusion. Worst of all, the android had not seen it fit to tell his partner about it.

Though at the moment, Hank looked less like a slighted colleague and a lot more like a furious parent.

No wonder Connor was on edge.

Speaking of which, the poor android must’ve detected the Lieutenant’s vitals, for he discretely lifted his gaze towards the two-way mirror for a second before slouching and ducking his head. Tina never thought she’d see the day the RK800’s perfect posture would fail him. God, she felt bad for the guy.

After squaring a few case-related facts away, Hank made to leave, but he first issued an impatient order.

“Now, get out; I’ll take over from here.”

An oblivious fool thought to chime in. “Lieutenant, with all due respect, you can’t just –”

And that’s how far he got as piercing blue eyes leveled him from 4 feet away. The younger cop faltered, taking a step backwards despite the quiet and stillness. With no further contact meant, Hank promptly left, obviously honed in on the room, or rather the people, a room over.

Chen and her coworkers filed out quickly, though she had no doubt most would’ve wanted to watch the shit-show about to begin. Self-preservation came first, at least, as they wanted to stay clear of Anderson’s warpath.

It could not be denied that this level of lidded-while-boiling fury coming from the Lieutenant was unprecedented and therefore quite honestly terrifying.

‘Jesus, Gavin, what did you guys do? And why not tell the Lieutenant in the first place, given his expertise with Red Ice investigations?’ Chen frowned pensively, exiting the room, barely catching a hint of the reactions through the glass as Hank approached the strangest team of former enemies she’d ever seen.

*****

Hank should’ve arrived 2 minutes earlier, actually, with only Connor being aware of this, adding to his increasing stress. At the time, the android couldn’t contain his curiosity when he noted the familiar presence, stalling by the doorway.

As it so happened, the older man had been deliberately altering his breathing cycle to calm his heart rate and general composure. Ironically, these findings incited the opposite effect on Connor: his thirium pump beat faster as a result.

Almost sickly comical in its attempt at helpfulness, Connor’s personalized feature of newly identified emotions appeared on his HUD, as he’d been keeping a catalogue since deviation. At present, it simply rankled, the alert reading **[NERVOUS ˄]** in harsh neon. Connor abruptly whisked the recognition away. He decided he didn’t need this feature, after all.

Connor’s LED going red acted as its own warning to the two other occupants before the door was sharply opened and closed with one controlled maneuver.

Gavin unconsciously straightened, yet he held onto his glower. North kept staring ahead, chewing ever so placidly.

It was all for naught anyway since Hank’s attention held fast on Connor. The android knew it too, and once he dared meet the fulminating gaze, his eyes drifted again. The red LED shone more starkly as did the blue blush beginning to seep into the synthetic cheeks.

“Connor?”

Against all expectations, the questioning prompt seemed curbed. No shouting or rude gestures.

 _Yet,_ the social program provided darkly. A timer, metaphorical or not, would’ve proved quite apropos.

“Lieutenant –” Connor considered his approach and tried again. “Hank, I… I can explain.”

A loud ‘tch’ interrupted them.

“Give me a fucking break,” Gavin broke in none too delicately. “We don’t owe answers to anyone, least of all this useless asshole.”

In the next second, Reed had two faces giving him an almost identical scowl. The android was definitely picking up on more than just movie-bingeing habits from the old cop.

“Lieutenant Anderson laid down the groundwork for the investigation,” Connor protested, his voice in utter contrast to its former chastened state. “I thought your brain had enough memory retention to know that much.”

“Oh, here we go. Always the loyal lapdog… And that was 10 years ago! _We_ were left to put together the pieces and take the lead _in 2039_ , no thanks to him.”

Hank watched with dull frustration, having heard this before. Gavin had proposed a partnered sting a month ago, but Hank had turned it down, paranoid over Connor’s vulnerability as a rare and advanced model.

Connor’s defense of him notwithstanding, Hank was still working on keeping his anger at a simmer and nearly succeeded until the Jericho member had a go.

“You should be happy, _Lieutenant_ . Connor proved _useful_ : something I’m sure the DPD prizes above all things.” She paused in her chewing to give a lazy smile. “The idiot practically slit his wrists to keep the perps interested. Sampling the batch, offering to provide the key ingredient – he was all game.”

Connor was now on Hank’s periphery as his focus shifted, heavy-set body already on another, albeit subconscious, trajectory.

Never one to take note of mounting danger, Gavin hackled on. “Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Eager like a goddamn puppy. Code word was even about dogs.”

It would later embarrass North to acknowledge that in the middle of her raucous mirth, the sudden grip wrenching her chair backwards caught her off-guard. Roughly colliding with the floor, she barely had a moment to identify an airway obstruction in the form of her wad of bubblegum when an additional commotion occurred to her left. Her mechanical sputtering was soon joined by a more human-sounding struggle for breath as a second body slam resounded in the confined space.

In his shock, Connor was also slow on the take, worryingly scanning the sprawled form on the floor and the other pinned to the wall. “Hank!”

But the older cop pressed his forearm more harshly against Reed’s throat. “So you’re trying to tell me that not only did you go behind my back and pressure Connor into this…”

“Hank, I _chose_ to –”

“But you two had your thumbs up each other’s asses and enjoyed the show while Connor risked his life?”

As soon as an inkling of a defensive tone eked through in response, Hank shoved at Gavin with renewed anger, restraining himself from kicking at the detective once he collapsed onto the ground, coughing.

Connor had drawn closer, arm dropping in tandem with Gavin’s own descent, relieved he wouldn’t have to interfere. On a normal day, he wouldn’t mind seeing the rude agent being put in his place, but this level of aggression from Hank was usually reserved for criminals.

“You should let him speak,” North began, upright and glaring holes into Hank’s back. “He’d tell you that your trophy rent-a-cop begged to–”

This time North’s choked gasp had more to do with surprise than actual impact, though the projectile coffee mug definitely left a mark. Rivulets of cold coffee fruitlessly met with her partially opened mouth, some of the earthy tone clashing with the blue graze on one cheek.

On one hand, Connor couldn’t help but file away Hank’s deft maneuver; the backwards, underhanded move was most certainly tied to baseball expertise…?

On the other hand, the Cyberlife prototype snapped to attention and finally reached Hank, just as the seasoned cop angled himself to better keep the other two within his sights. Connor purposefully grabbed onto a time-worn sleeve as a careful request for restraint.

“You prick!” North snarled, ignoring her dripping hair in favor of remaining poised for a counter-attack. “I’d like to see you take me on without any cheap moves.”

“I second that.” Gavin was rubbing his throat as he said it, yet eyes burned with a promise to join that brawl as well.

Hank clenched his fists so hard, knuckles cracked with the small shift alone.

“Lieutenant…”

The pleading voice uttering the formal title that Connor rarely used anymore had the older man refocusing. Nervous brown eyes partnered with an insistent tug on his sleeve had Hank deflating further.

A second burst through the door re-directed attention, even if it only added to the already abounding tension.

“What the fuck is all this?” Fowler narrowly avoided tripping over a coffee mug by his foot, cracked to hell. “With the way people are gossiping outside, you’d swear the DPD is hosting its own boxing ring in here.”

“We’re done anyway, Jeffrey,” Hank bit back, feeling his frustration rise all over again.

“Yeah, you sure as hell are.” Before Fowler’s long-time friend and his pseudo-son could devolve into worried arguments, the Captain more calmly elaborated. “I’ll be dealing with this from now on. Markus is here as the other liaison, Ms. North –”

“It’s North; no ‘miss.’” The woman swiped at her face and relaxed her stance in a show of truce.

“Right,” Fowler continued. “You and Gavin will provide details, but I assume the bust went well?”

“Yeah, it did,” Gavin stated forcefully, with a glower in Hank’s direction.

“Then why…?” The Captain trailed off, vaguely gesturing towards both Gavin and North’s unkempt appearance and the overturned state of the room, in general.

“Connor joined the sting, Captain,” North informed him stiffly.

Fowler arched both eyebrows in comprehension even as he grew puzzled over the android’s involvement. Though the ‘droid looked intact, it was obvious his old friend was out for blood and held these other two responsible. Jeffrey was well aware of how protective the jaded man was of the newest department employee.

“The DPD never authorized –”

“He offered. Something about a loophole involving his open status as a DPD consultant and his automated function to anonymously post evidence onto your computer logs.”

While Fowler admired Connor’s ingenuity in assisting without breaking the law, Hank slowly and purposefully encroached upon the kid’s personal space. North noted the difference in reaction with reluctant commiseration. It seemed that despite her bias, she had to recognize that Hank was perhaps the _only_ officer who did not so readily dismiss Connor’s state of being.

“Hm. In that case, technically, Connor is exempt from further disciplinary measures.”

“The fuck he is! Meetings at Jericho, my ass! How many days were you doing this, Connor?”

Though Hank was taller by 3 inches, against all logic, the difference felt tripled to Connor just then as the lieutenant towered over him with a severely stern expression.

“Well, I …”

“Hank,” Fowler sighed with exasperation, surely fed up with all the mounting drama at this point. “I get it. Your partner cut corners and willing police officers shouldn’t have played along, legal exceptions or not.” At this, the dark eyes meaningfully met with Gavin’s own hooded gaze. Not giving anyone room to interrupt, he pressed on. “While _I_ can guarantee that this level of manipulation will never occur again under my watch, this is out of your jurisdiction, Hank.”

A raised hand to forestall any defensiveness miraculously staved off any recurring bouts of ill temper. Maybe Hank could read the understanding in Fowler’s look.

“I know that this is a _personal_ issue for you. So, while I cover reports and meetings… you deal with your partner. But quit it with this Goodfellas bullshit, okay?”

“Sure. Like I said, we’re done here for the day.” Reversing their hold, Hank grabbed Connor by the arm this time, only the older man wasn’t as hesitant or loose with the contact.

He began towing Connor out, hearing Jeffrey’s mutter of ‘Thank God’ before he swiftly made his exit. Fowler could have fun with those two and their case all he wanted – he felt got his message across to Gavin and North anyway.

He had his kid with him, and why yes, he _would_ deal with him.


	2. Awaiting Trial

In the car, the lack of heavy metal music was another sign of troubled times.

With the exception of a few blaring honks and knee-jerk curses about stupid drivers, Hank drove with stony concentration.

Connor, however, kept most of his attention on his clenched hands in his lap when he wasn’t sneaking concerned glances to his left. He could see the vibrant wheel of red cycling on his temple, reflected back at him upon the car’s rain-streaked windshield.

Not able to distract himself with the usual Sumo videos within his ‘I like dogs’ compilation, his program automatically reverted to a mechanism that aided his stress levels: he constructed likely scenarios and calculated ways to handle the worst of them.

**[If Hank pressed Fowler for a formal suspension, he’d do chores around the house and finish the garden work he started last week.**

**If Hank told him to stay in his room, he’d solve the odd cold case online and keep Sumo with him.**

**If Hank rescinded all Sumo privileges, he’d… he’d offer to take care of the neighbor’s dogs.]**

Connor realized that his current processes would mystify Cyberlife technicians. Here his programming was being overwhelmed, not with the possibilities of hostage negotiation or suspect detainment… but due to the threat of personal consequences doled out by his father-figure.

Before he could think about the merits of bribing Hank with pizza, beer and perhaps a gift certificate from Chicken Feed, the car came to a halt, jarring Connor out of his cyber wanderings.

Hank left the car, paying no mind to the shower of rain immediately soaking him.

Connor knew he should join Hank as soon as possible. He just needed a minute to finish contingency plans and find ways to reduce Hank’s own stress.

The door on his end opened, startling him enough to evoke an uncharacteristic ‘Hey!’ of complaint. Undeterred, the person responsible for the interruption also unbuckled his seat belt, pulled Connor out by the wrist and summarily slammed the car door shut.

Connor decided he needed more time – time to elucidate an answer to his predicament.

‘C’mon,’ he spurred himself, his inverted voice slightly echoing in a simulation of mental monologues portrayed on TV. ‘You were able to change his anti-android sentiments in 2 weeks’ time. Surely, you can convince him that what you did was necessary. This is simply one of his bad moods.’

They were inside now, Sumo oblivious to their tension as he lazily circled them with innocent curiosity.

“Hank, can I please explain?”

The older man dropped the gyro-flexible wrist so that he could cross his arms. Despite his request, Connor floundered once Hank fully faced him, doing nothing spectacularly intimidating other than staring him down with a fixed air of disappointment.

Connor suddenly realized that at this moment, all he really wanted was to hug Sumo and go into stasis mode.

“I’m waiting.”

“Right.” Connor blinked hastily, LED fluctuating between yellow and red. “You have to know that I’d done all my research before volunteering for this investigation. I was always engineering the best course of action to take. And despite Gavin and North’s attitudes, I had proper support and never went in alone –”

“You never answered me back at the station. How many days?”

“About a week. 9 days… to be exact.” Connor tripped over his words a little.

Hank hummed and nodded with bitter assent.

“I was going to tell you…” the soft voice slowed as an angry exhale invaded the room, audible over the growing sound of rain outside. “… tonight.”

Blue eyes were obscured by fingers pinching at furrowed brows, but Connor knew the tiredness there had not dissipated at all.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Hank.”

“Connor… all of this is kind of a big fucking shock to me,” Hank said lowly. “I’m running on fumes as it is.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Desperate for their everyday light-hearted banter, the young android risked a shy smirk.

The fingers came down, blue eyes came back up, and Connor added one more misstep to the pile, topping off 9 days’ worth of faulty tight-roping. He’d not only lost his balance, but he felt no safety net awaited.

“Is this a joke to you?”

“I thought you might appreciate –”

“I go in today and they tell me that you made a bust. Imagine my surprise when Ben knows more about all this shit than I ever did. He tells me I should be proud that you brought down a red ice ring leader.”

Connor looked away, brushing a hand absently over his temple, wishing he hadn’t discarded his beanie earlier. He knew the present color of his LED all too well: it meant the color of roses, of restraints… and of waning relationships.

He didn’t dare scan Hank in fear of finding an indication of the latter result.

He _did_ want Hank to be proud of him; the RK800 wanted that more than anything, in fact.

“You should’ve never been involved, kid. We fucking talked about this.”

With that, Connor felt frustration slot into place in his ever-dizzying roulette of newfound emotions. “No, _you_ decided, Hank. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I don’t regret my involvement. They wouldn’t have caught the main trafficker without me –”

“You don’t get to be cocky about this!”

“– and even though I risked an internal contamination…” Connor divulged, figuring Hank would hear all about it the next day with Fowler anyway.

“ _What?!_ When did –”

“…it’s no different from any other case, and I’d do it all over again,” the android finished smartly.

They had been talking over each other, both voices rising, but with Connor’s last proclamation, the room stilled. Rain pelted the window and from the vicinity of the kitchen, Sumo could be heard whining.

Hank spoke as he bridged the distance between them, voice deceptively calm. “You’re wrong, Connor. This wasn’t like any other case. It was off-book, sans _partner_.” Here, the calm broke. “And now you’re telling me that you took risks that would usually require a technician on-site, something the DPD recently authorized, for fuck’s sake, to better watch your back. And you decided to spit in the face of all of that and go rogue?”

Despite Hank’s obvious torment, Connor stood by his decision-making, even if the results were not altogether celebratory. “No regrets, Hank,” he reiterated. He meant to convey steadiness, yet he could not force his posture to straighten out of its wilt.

“No regrets?” Standing almost toe to toe with the young deviant, Hank rested his hands on his hips. “Alright.” The older man seemed to puff up and grow unyielding with a sharp intake of air. “Tell ya’ what – remember that old timey cartoon about that character, Tom-whatever? The ending?”

Connor blinked at the non-sequitur. As soon as he followed Hank’s train of thought, however, and its implied threat, he swore he was on the brink of a total system crash. His humanoid body reacted to the wave of **[MORTIFIED]** by allowing his face to flush the brightest version of blue it’d ever been.

As if challenging Connor’s face to go bluer, Hank further expounded, “Yep, that’s gonna be your fate, kiddo. Still wanna die on your ‘no regrets’ hill?” The words were his usual brand of sarcasm, but no actual humor leaked through to the cerulean eyes. 

“ _Hank_ …” For all of his strict self-tailoring, the RK800 could not help the whining lilt.

**This won't solve anything! Wₕy ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ dₒᵢₙg ₜₕᵢₛ?**

**We should deal with this professionally a̶n̶d̶ ̶m̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ ̶d̶e̶f̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶F̶o̶w̶l̶e̶r̶.̶**

**Ï̵̛̟͕̈́̔͊̎͐͗͘'̶m̸̢̮͎̖̱͙̦͔̓͑̍̾̎͠͝ ̶̥͕̣̝̙̙̜̭̈̑ͅn̴͙͓͍̖̓͗ͅͅo̴̤͛́̃͑̚t̸͈̣͎̒ ̸͙̭͉̯̫̳̍̎̈́̋̈́͜ą̸͙̰̲̞͍͈̮̎ ̴̣͈̓̅͌̇͠c̴̩̳͓͊̋̈̉̈́͛̔̒ȟ̶̨̛͓̙͕̊̋̐̾̂͐́i̵̝̪̼͔̙̯̩͔͐ĺ̷̨̰͍̣̦̘̿͛̂̔͝͝͠d̴̡͙̭̋́͊̔̍͊̀̆ You're embarrassing me!**

“Save it! I’m at the end of my rope, Con.” A hint of desperation indeed colored the gravelly tone. “If this is about guilt, your savior complex or wanting to feel alive so badly, you can skip over tasting poison and dodging bullets. You can experience a wake-up call right here at home, courtesy of yours truly.”

Connor stood dumbfounded, face still tainted beyond its usual hue.

“And go wait in your room. I’m too pissed off as it is.”

Hank lumbered away into the living room, trusting Connor to obey. Thinking this was all a malicious prank of some sort, the android refused to budge.

“You c-can’t!” the brunette spoke belligerently, his jumble of pre-constructed retorts failing him. Instead, he issued that succinct denial.

‘Except,’ Connor’s unequivocal memory log recall reminded him, ‘this wasn’t the first time Hank had proved he really _could_ do this.’

Around February, within a month of reinstating Connor’s status as an officer to some capacity, there had been a culmination of teenage-like rebellion in the younger man. The android chafed at the limited bounds of his position as consultant, wanting to do more than paperwork and surveillance. Suffice to say, heads had butted _hard_ over a revisited argument at home, and in a climactic merge of provocation and collapsed patience, Hank’s hand had connected with a certain anatomical component of Connor’s – a spontaneous gesture leaving both equally embarrassed.

The android had hopefully categorized The Incident as a one-time miscalculation on Hank’s part.

Currently observing a determined Hank making his way back towards him, it seemed _he_ was the one who woefully miscalculated.

In an ironic twist of happenstance, the self-preservation that hardly made an appearance during the covert op kicked in urgently right then, flooding Connor’s vision with absurdly simple escape routes. Nevertheless, it was too late, and the deviant scarcely managed a measly step backwards before he was seized. A grip around his bicep swiftly turned him so that he was facing his bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

Not at all accepting of the reality of his situation, the android tried to override his sensors at the last minute. Of course, it hadn’t worked the first time he felt cold, or felt an itch, or when he first felt the strain of joints.

And it didn’t work presently either, if the burst of static on the left portion of his backside was anything to go by.

It was over in two seconds, and just like that, the grip was gone and Connor was granted his space again. Sadly, the reprieve didn’t amount to much as the earlier directive was repeated, and more authoritatively so.

“I said, go to your room. _Now_.”

Hank hadn’t even finished speaking, and Connor was already briskly walking down the hall, head bowed. The android opened the door to the repurposed garage, closed it and stood in darkness. Once more, he resented the eerie glow of red that flashed in the corner of his peripheral vision, almost acting as a siren to his frenzied thoughts.

Overlapping processes vied for prioritization: a haze of errors, maps and journal logs clouded his view. His HUD signaled a 17% surface restoration of a particular region he censored for the foreseeable future. His fight-or-flight program also chartered a 5-step escape route out his window. Transcribed arguments were revisited and edited to test if better alternatives had been possible – ‘A pointless strategy, undoubtedly very human in nature,’ he observed dazedly.

And throughout it all, as fleeting and maddening as a spark of light bouncing between mirrors, there was a single, irrepressible realization that kept resurging:

 **[That** **_hurt_** **.]**

Since deviation and its wonders in advancement, he experienced his own version of discomfort, unique even by android standards. This, however, was… different.

Wishing for a coin, or Sumo’s company, Connor sunk onto his bed, not needing any light to find his way. He decided that after a day like today, he could use 10-15 minutes to wallow before facing whatever Hank had in store.

15 minutes passed and Connor was still tensely gripping a pillow as he sat cross-legged on his bed.


	3. Remembering "Tom Thumb"

Hank thought he could sit on the couch and think this through over a beer. No such nonchalance proved possible. After changing out of his work attire, he paced in the living room, Sumo observing from his designated corner by the heater after having emerged from the kitchen.

‘Goddammit,’ Hank thought. ‘Jeanne had always been the disciplinarian.’

Hard to believe, he knew, given his track record for explosive reactions and high tempers. He could, of course, punch a wide range of people on a daily basis and have no problem with it. He interacted with random criminals, arrogant colleagues and corrupt officials all the time, so who could blame him?

And well, sometimes the individuals who incited his ire weren’t all that transitory either…

After his mother’s funeral, his sister had nearly fractured his jaw and he gave her two black eyes in retaliation. They’d made up a couple months later and Hank had only apologized for the name-calling; he figured she deserved the rest. And with Fowler, close friend or no, twenty-odd years of friendship had come with at least three instances of fractured knuckles between them.

So, maybe close friends and family were on that list of punch-able people too.

Connor was a whole other story, though. The wayward deviant was family, sure, but more importantly, the kid was _Hank’s_ _kid_ … and the last thing the old cop wanted to do was cause him pain.

In fact, Hank’s ideal plan was to yell at Connor a bit more, shake him once or twice and call it a day, being able to sleep on the promise that the android wouldn’t do anything stupid ever again.

‘Fat chance of that guarantee,’ Hank lamented, running a hand down his face as the pacing began to cover more ground. ‘Jesus, I have zero experience with this. That other time months ago had been kind of a fluke.’

Once Hank strayed near the front door, Sumo gave a short bark, no doubt eyeing the leash hanging off the key rack. Too far gone in his thoughts, Hank distractedly patted the St. Bernard’s head before he completed another lap around the living room.

“I wouldn’t really be hurting him,” the curmudgeon pondered aloud.

His brain called bullshit.

“So, it’ll hurt a little, but hell, it wouldn’t even be as bad as a scraped knee. Nothing compared to all the damage the techs warned us about,” he continued, almost as if appeasing a jury.

He remembered an HR meeting on android health at the office – all those depictions of chemical burns, gunshot wounds and haphazard amputation. Aggressors were actually learning about the best ways to torture androids, especially the deviant ones that had newly formed scopes of pain registry. It made Hank as sick as it made him terrified. 

‘Tonight could’ve gone so much worse.’ Hank stopped pacing, stuck on the myriad of possible, tragic outcomes had the bust gone south. The contrast made him all the more thankful… and it also solidified his plan to exact serious consequences regarding Connor’s escapade.

“Shit.”

The second-time parent looked to the room that held a likely despondent android. Sumo yawned noisily, grabbing the man’s attention.

“Day’s kinda sucked, eh, Sumo?” He roughly patted the dog, relatively buoyed by the calmness his pet always seemed to provide. “I may need your help later with some TLC for Connor.”

The TLC part sounded nice; if only he could get through the tough CP part first…

Hank left Sumo with a final pat and made his way to the door littered with pro-android stickers. They’d been leftovers from a stack that Hank bought to cover the gummy, half-peeled mess at his work station as of mid-November.

Eyeing one particular sticker based off of **_The Iron Giant_ **, claiming “Life = Soul,” Hank thought back to the reference he gave Connor earlier to tip him off regarding punishment: context via cartoons. He gave a small smile at the thought, despite the circumstances.

Since deviancy, and given the extra free time afforded by ambiguous employment, the kid had taken to watching TV as if it were his primary source for insight on humanity. The situation escalated when Connor found all the shows that Hank grew up with. By then, he roped in a nostalgia-fueled enabler who was just as happy looking at the damn things until late night. Most endearing of all, though? The android seemed to enjoy cartoons like nobody’s business. The kid could justify it all he wanted – something about creativity, metaphors and animation feats – but in the end, once the cutesy intros began, Hank could joke that Connor’s pupils dilated to a size that would put his quarters to shame.

And yeah, that Tom-whatever cartoon had foreshadowed it all.

*** _Flashback_ ***

_There was something about a Saturday morning, cartoons, and Connor sitting on the carpet alongside Sumo that gave Hank hope for the future. And wasn’t that timely, after the New Year’s feast they had had a couple nights ago at the Manfred place? God, the good cheer would’ve been suffocating if it hadn’t been its own exercise in scenting a sweeter air._

_He was about to start up the coffee machine when he heard Connor phrase his name as a query._

_"Yeah, Con?”_

_Hank peeked around the corner, enough to see a shaky title page introduce_ **_Tom Thumb_ ** _to era-specific orchestral music._

_"Is this a classic? I browsed for details and it says the cartoon’s from 1936.” There was smidgeon of awe in the midst of the android’s usual curiosity._

_“Damn, that’s old as hell. I think I saw it once, but maybe classic’s pushing it. I showed you those Daffy Duck ones –_ those _are a childhood benchmark.”_

_Had Connor been paying more attention, he may have corrected the older man on the childhood remark. The android often bristled whenever Hank teased him about his basically being a child. Consequently, Connor was not often remiss in articulating his precise capabilities to the older cop._

_As it were, the more old-fashioned storytelling had the android entranced and he quietly resumed watching the hokey episode. Hank soon joined, trying not to spill his coffee as he plopped onto the couch._

_Connor saw the narrative progress without commentary, but Hank had questions of his own: so, basically, this was a male version of Thumbelina? And who the fuck made a pie out of raisins? Also, how stupid were those parents, letting their bite-size kid run around on a_ farm _of all places? He probably would’ve remembered seeing something this goddamn dull, so it was a first for both of them, at least._

_He was about to get up to see about grabbing a shower when Connor’s LED changed to yellow. The slightly curled bedhead, visible over the top of Hank’s crossed slippers on the coffee table, noticeably tilted at what followed on the screen, which was indeed a rare portrayal, especially by today’s standards._

_“Hank?”_

_“Mm.”_

_“What was that?”_

_Hank could see why it might be hard for Connor to find answers using his everyday search methods. What kind of online results would keywords like finger flick and lowered pants yield? Hank guessed he’d have to pick up the ball here and explain things, no matter how awkward the concept._

_“It’s called a spanking, kid.”_

_The yellow LED cycled for a while longer, then stuttered, as if wanting to backtrack on the recent acquisition of clarity. Connor half-twisted in his seated position to look inquisitively towards the older man._

_Hank knew Connor nitpicked relationships on TV, and noticed how the android was seemingly fixated on parental dynamics._

_Connor questioned fictional representations with confidence, yet was understandably warier when witnessing tense situations usually deemed private. At malls, there were oftentimes parents yelling, children throwing tantrums on the floor. At the grocery store, they’d witnessed an adult daughter yelling back at her mother._

_Those negative instances would linger with the deviant, though Hank was glad to note that his charge tended to overanalyze the positive occasions most. There had been hugs of relief at the station between reunited family, parents cheering on their children in the park, neighbors’ older kids having returned home for the holidays to much fanfare in the driveway._

_The renowned detective would bet anything that Connor had even come to idealize this type of dynamic. And if that tidbit hadn’t made Hank want to aggressively read parenting books while getting plastered, he’d be lying about how well he took that blindsiding epiphany._

_And here they were, touching upon a particularly delicate nerve when it came to family discipline. Great conversation-starter for a Saturday morning._

_“It’s banned in a third of the states,” Connor began, no doubt mentally sorting through whatever wave of statistics his server gathered. “However, polls show that most parents admit to resorting to that kind of punishment. Makes it sound…somber.” Brown eyes stared unblinkingly, genuinely concerned for this hypothetical grouping of sentenced youths._

_Hank blew out a noisy breath. “It shouldn’t be; doesn’t mean it can’t be. Plenty of people are absolute pieces of shit, and some happen to be parents.”_

_“Then it should be… mild?” The hesitation there made Hank want to ruffle the brown curls and change topic. Connor wouldn’t let it go anyway, though, ever the aspiring bloodhound._

_Hank paused, scratching at his neck. “Spanking your kid? If anything, it should be like that.” He waved a hand at the screen, prompting Connor to give a Budweiser commercial undue attention. “Before you make any wisecracks about beer not being a solution, I meant the cartoon. The Dad swatted the guy a bit and that was that.”_

_Connor frowned at the tautological finality to the older man’s remark. On the floor, he stretched so he could face Hank and pet Sumo at the same time._

_Hank went ahead, set on lightening the subject matter. “Look, I’m sure a follow-up would include a hug – at least it would if you didn’t have to worry about stepping on your own kid.” The android lightly rolled his eyes, the little shit. “Then they’d bond over feeding the chickens or whatever boring shit they’d do on a farm.”_

_“Huh.” Connor was satisfied for all of two seconds before he recalled something else. “I saw Mrs. Duarte chasing her son the other night, carrying a belt. My results show that parents occasionally use implements, so would that still be…okay?”_

_“Fuck no,” Hank answered matter-of-factly. “That’s overkill. And I told you no investigating the neighbors, Connor.”_

_“I was walking Sumo. And she and Ed were the ones –”_

_“Wait, Eddie? Her oldest one?” Hank let out a short, genuine laugh. “Christ, what is he, 33?”_

_“Does that matter?”_

_The lieutenant was about to supply a cliché about being treated in accordance with the age you acted, when he gave up and shrugged instead. “Meh. With the way Eddie keeps wrecking cars, I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Regardless, his mother’s kind of an idiot for reacting that way too.”_

_“Losing her temper, you mean?”_

_“Yeah. Can’t go strong-arming your kid like that, even if he_ is _a grown-ass adult.”_

_Connor nodded contemplatively._

_“It all makes me think of Kara; I can see she takes parenting seriously. When we all met on New Year’s, we were mentioning our resolutions and she brought up raising Alice. She didn’t know what to do about a deviant child who doesn’t seem to realize her own limitations.”_

_Hank snorted, hoping Connor would catch his eye as he said this to better read the irony in the situation. No such luck; Connor kept processing out loud._

_“They’re simple things, like Alice turning off her temperature gauge so that she can play in the snow for longer periods of time.”_

_The older man couldn’t hold back any longer. “At least Kara doesn’t have to worry about her daughter ignorin’ the need to power down, or about her habit of sneaking outta the house at ass o’clock in the morning.”_

_“Actually, she_ has _told Alice…” The inference kicked in and Connor stopped lounging as he sat up more properly. “I’m not at all like Alice, Hank.”_

_“Then why can I relate to Kara?”_

_A stroke of blue quickly overtook Connor’s default skin color. Perhaps the change was inspired by the direct comparison to familial roles or the matter of lumping Connor in with Alice in the same category. Or maybe it was both._

_“It’s not the same at all,” Connor argued. “Alice is a YK500 and you hardly need to wonder about the effectiveness of withholding toys when I’m trying to_ help _the DPD –”_

_“Hey, we’re not gonna get into this before my second cup of coffee.” Hank meant to leave it at that, he really did. “But I did have to ground you that time, Con.”_

_The indignant android couldn’t seem to settle on the start of a sentence, the human noticed amusedly, until the knot of words untangled into a flustered string of formal babble. “I never agreed to your terms, Hank. I simply restored equilibrium to my stasis cycle, but as soon as I did, I left my room. That was all.”_

_“Sure, kid,” Hank said, exaggerating a placating tone. “Who knows, maybe I can give pointers to Kara, or we can find answers together.”_

_Connor all-out pouted, and damned if Hank didn’t think it cute. Calculatingly, the youthful expression next turned aloof. “But it’s not like you’d ever... do that. So, that point is moot, at least.”_

_And that’s how Hank found himself smirking with the strangest compound of affection and intimidation. Cyberlife’s super-spy couldn’t come out and say the word ‘spank.’_

_The lieutenant clicked his tongue. “I don’t know, son. I suppose you’ll have to be an upstanding citizen and never find out.”_

_“Fine.” Connor stood and dusted dog fur off his overly large T-shirt. “In that case, Markus did present me with a medal. I guess that would be my carte blanche. Or per our game night last Sunday, my get-out-of-jail-free card.” The brat had the nerve to give his own grin at that quip._

_‘Oh, so Connor thinks he can write this off as a joke,’ Hank thought with fake joviality._

_“Alright, fuck citizenry.” The human’s sense of humor lingered on the surface, but his eyes lost their spark of mischief. The topic had innocently started out with a cartoon, and now Hank could only think of all the times Connor had scoffed at his recent protectiveness. “You remember three things: you don’t have your badge yet, you have alerts for a reason, and you’re not expendable. You stay safe, got it?”_

_Connor gave a tentative nod, clearly caught off-guard by the scolding edge to the listed expectations._

_“Then you’ll be fine. No worries about smacked butts.” Hank got off the couch, rolling his neck and stretching his back._

_“H-Hank?” Connor was half-way through picking up a throw pillow from the floor when he froze._

_“What? Think of it as a worst-case scenario you should be able to avoid.” Not even Hank was sure if he was serious or not, but the old cop had backed himself into a corner. He’d rather let the kid stew a little than leave him thinking that Hank would only go so far as to make him take day-long naps to enforce Connor’s self-preservation._

_‘Meeting adjourned,’ were the human’s sardonic thoughts after he glanced at the living room clock._

_Connor had other ideas. Blocking the other man’s path to the bathroom, the deviant gesticulated restrictively, pillow still in one hand. “We both know that’s a ridiculous threat. I could easily find more practical methods to resolve our differences.” Formality reared its head again, Hank noted. “I could –”_

_“You could go get ready.” A gentle hand not only tugged Connor aside and towards his own room, but it also incentivized him with a perfunctory tap across his dog-patterned pajama seat._

_You’d think Hank had triggered an emergency shutdown with the way the android went ramrod straight._

_Deciding to play it cool, the lieutenant made his retreat and hung onto the bathroom’s doorway to lean out and say, “We gotta get going. No way in hell am I gonna get stuck in the noon rush, especially if it’s to go to the goddamn grocery store.” He examined Connor’s tension, his LED in a swirl of yellow. “It’s called a love pat, kid. Also in the cartoon.”_

_Brown eyes sulkily lifted from the ground to meet with blue ones. “I’m not a child, Hank, so I don’t understand why you’re teasing me with this kind of treatment.”_

_Hank retraced his steps until he’d sauntered back to Connor’s side. “Give me a break, Con. To me, you look a lot younger, you_ are _a lot younger.” To avoid a more defensive reaction, he didn’t bring up the fact that the guy_ acted _accordingly at times too. “Besides, I may see you like a kid, but get this – you’re, maybe…” Hank mimicked tossing an idea around, ultimately saying the rest off-handedly. “You’re like_ my _kid, alright?”_

_A tad of tetchiness lay in the words, like a stitch among smoothness, to stay in character._

_Whatever the intent with tone, the words reached Connor just fine. His LED spun a bright blue. Brown eyes grew wide and glassy while his left hand joined the other to help hug the pillow closer._

_Knowing the signs, Hank wrapped his arms around the deviant. Connor remained clutching at the pillow comfortably sandwiched between them, though he leaned fully against the taller man. Hank understood the reaction: he made comparisons of their relationship to those of others –Chris and his newborn, Carl and Markus, and a minute ago, Kara and Alice – mostly in jest, but he’d never been this forward. He’d never staked familial claim… until now._

_Fucking interesting morning they were having._

_Connor leaned away, appearing bashful for entirely different reasons. A small smile adorned the shy face._

_“In that case, you’re like my old man.” The android’s processor must’ve corrected him a second too late, warning him of the congruity between that colloquialism and ‘Dad’. “That is – you’re old. Parallel to how you called me young. Not that you’re – that may be more than what you…”_

_In the middle of Connor’s ramblings, something in Hank became displaced away from a dark corner, back into the open. It felt like the time Connor fixed an old Walkman of Hank’s, a thing he’d broken during one of his worst drunken fits two years ago. Connor had made it play music again._

_So, it felt like that, except infinitely better._

_“Con, take it easy,” Hank said, unable to keep a content hum out of his words, so overwhelmed he was with fondness. “I get what you mean.” The older man had made the first slip, if they were keeping count, given his liberal use of “son” to address Connor._

_“Oh. Okay.”_

_The android equivalent of ‘beet red’ would always be a sight to behold. It never failed to strike a paternal cord in the grumpy cop. To Hank, the deviant could be compared to that character from Willy Wonka, the one that essentially became a blueberry._

_Finding the face endearing, Hank’s playfulness dictated he capture Connor’s chin, squishing his cheeks a little. He marveled at the static sheen he could feel, similar to the way warmth emanated from a human blush, he surmised._

_Not too hung up on those differences, Hank gave the blue face a small shake. “So, how about you heed your old man and get ready.”_

_In his efforts to fend off Hank’s grip, particularly in response to the way Hank had begun pinching one cheek and making cooing sounds, Connor grabbed at both wrists and dropped the throw pillow. After a brief entangle that forebodingly reminded Connor of a noogie he had no wish to re-experience, he was able to break free._

_“I’m still not a YK500.” He didn’t need to be told to get dressed… And he absolutely didn’t need to face any penalty designed for unruly children. He bent to retrieve the comfy lump he had let drop at his feet, intent on tidying the living room first. “Maybe I should wear my old jacket with my serial code so that you can tell the diff–”_

_Hank had purposefully circled Connor as the latter’s snark grew, coincidentally granted an open target. The tap was more of a swat this time, packing more oomph and making the android nearly face-plant with surprise._

_“Hank, it’s not funny!” To his own discredit, Connor looked every bit the upset juvenile: he had abandoned the pillow, more willing to use both hands to block his offended area from any other oncoming ‘attacks.’_

_“Okay, so it’s not,” the lieutenant agreed with a terse chuckle as he began walking away. “But if you’re not out in 15 minutes, I’m leaving without you and picking up the greasiest pizza on my way back.”_

_When no complaint came, Hank craftily used the reflective surface off of an encased portrait to catch a peek back. Connor appeared to be miffed, grumbling to himself, as he tried to rub subtly at his hindquarters. His LED was blue, though._

_With that, Hank grinned and made his way back to the promise of a relaxing shower. Perhaps as an unspoken apology, the older man would treat his adoptive son to the latest Thirium bubble tea. He prided himself in knowing the kid and it turned out he had a sweet tooth that rivaled that of any five-year-old’s._

_‘Not a kid, my ass,’ he thought fondly._

_*****_

Simpler times and all that. Four months later, Hank was officially testing out his android-rearing theory. He hated it on principle and he hadn’t even done anything yet, for crying out loud!


	4. The Fall of the Axe

Deciding he was done with delaying the inevitable, Hank knocked on the door. A quiet “Enter” had him twisting the knob, to be met with a single detail in the middle of a dark room: a lively pinwheel of red and yellow. The color of distress cut through Hank like a laser.

“Christ, kid,” Hank muttered as he went in. Turning on a small lamp in a corner, he purposefully kept the lighting dim. In the faint glow, the lieutenant spied Connor on his bed, curled around a pillow, and just like that, Hank felt ten times worse.

“Connor?”

The android peeked at him over the pillow with sad eyes.

“Get some pajamas on, and I’ll feed your fish meanwhile.” The instruction was kind, and yet he felt like a heel anyway.

Hank visited the aquarium in the corner of the room, and tossed a few flakes in. He wasn’t there to disrupt their usual feeding schedule – he only needed to grant Connor a couple minutes of privacy. A bit of rummaging and soft rustling moves of clothes later, the deviant gave the okay in a small voice, and Hank turned back.

The younger man was on his bed again, wearing flannel bottoms and an old Harley shirt of Hank’s. Hands in his lap, back straight, Connor sat as he had when Hank first met him… and the Detroiter hated it. He couldn’t tell who was the most tense between them both.

Sitting alongside the android, Hank wrestled with the idea of putting an arm around the stiff shoulders. Ruminations halted when Connor broke the silence first.

“You – You’re really going to…?” Connor was facing away, and even with his LED exposed, Hank paid more attention to the micro expressions pulling at his left eyebrow and the forever smooth jawline.

“Yeah, Con. What happened today was kind of a big deal.”

“I get that!” At this, Connor whirled back around, countenance warring between frustration and anxiety. “But why this? It doesn’t make sense…”

‘And I don’t like it.’ That, the deviant decided, he wouldn’t voice.

“You wanna know why?” Exhaustion dulled Hank’s temper, making his tone more conversational than anything else. “Grounding doesn’t cover this, kiddo, and at the office you won’t have to worry about a formal suspension. Under my roof, though? You answer to me, and I say your safety matters.”

“Answering to you? Your roof? If this is about seniority and keeping me in line –”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Connor.” Hank drew closer so they were almost shoulder to shoulder. “None of this cop out bullshit. We’ve talked about it before, but if I have to spell it out for you, I will: ‘under my roof’ is Dad speak for ‘you’re my kid.’ Remember?”

His mien still despondent, Connor cracked a furtive smile at Hank’s words, unfailingly moved by the sense of belonging. And as nice as it would be to end the night on that reminder of family ties, the lieutenant had to bring the point home. For as much as Connor claimed this discipline venture made no sense, the older man was starting to see the opposite.

“And another thing, son. This is gonna work _because_ you’re gonna _feel_ it. You can call it a tactile thing, ‘cause I’m the same way. When we’re stressed, we huddle on the couch. When we’re relaxed, we roughhouse. And when everything’s honky-dory, I hug the crap outta you. So…”

He looked to his adoptive son and saw an unenthusiastic hint of understanding in the middle of a whole lot of dread.

“You get in serious trouble like this, I spank you… and _then_ I hug you. You gettin’ this?” He ended the last part on a gentler note.

In the deep recesses of Connor’s backlogs, he could admit that tangibility made quite an impression on him, not only due to his post-deviant senses as an upgraded source of feedback and input, but also due to a wholly more emotional factor.

Ever since Amanda’s hostile garden takeover, Connor feared abstract spaces to varying degrees. Additionally, adaptive dreamscapes were a recent possibility for androids and for the most part, the RK800 found them to be fun if disorienting. He soon changed his mind when recurring nightmares arose, leading him to discover that not all of it was pleasant.

Thus, the deviant indeed sought tethers to physical manifestations, namely safety in the form of Hank. It all fed into his newfound state of being alive. And though loathe to confess it, he really was like a child in this regard.

‘Still…’

“I can do chores; there’s a physicality to that too. And otherwise, I’ll stay in my room and _not_ do any investigative type of work, not even online.”

“Connor.”

Hank said his name the way he did all those months ago when the android pushed for access to the Evidence Room. The memory encouraged him, thinking back to Hank’s capitulation then and how the same victory might repeat itself.

“And after that, I could leave for a few days and assist with Jericho reforms.”

“Wha – the _fuck_ you will!”

Connor blinked with surprise. “The time and space apart might put things into better perspective. That way, you might not be as upset with me.”

Hank ran a hand down his face. “Kid, the problem today was that I found out you went solo on a covert op. And you’re tellin’ me that you should go off and get lost again? While I sit here, what, meditating?”

“I’d be helping,” Connor said, fidgeting with his hands.

“You’ll be staying here, at _home_.” Hank took the restless hands into his own. With a heavy heart, he observed the skin tone receding, minimally, around parts of the extremities that made contact with Hank. Not used to the sight unless Connor was on the brink of stasis or in the wake of a nightmare, the older cop gave the hands a fortifying squeeze.

“I’m not letting you run away,” he carried on, imbuing the words with warmth to stress reassurance and not the warning it would initially seem to be. “Okay… up, kid.”

“What?” The yellow on Connor’s temple flickered and became mixed with red.

“We’re getting this over with.” Hank’s bigger hands pulled on Connor’s in an upwards motion and let go.

Uneasily, the android did as prompted. The lieutenant noticed the step backwards, however, along with faster-cycling yellow LED and the bite of a lip that commonly preceded an argument.

Set on establishing a momentum that would make this as quick and as surmountable as possible, Hank gently sabotaged Connor’s procrastination and pulled the deviant to his side. Making it further than he anticipated, he led the kid to stand at his right, but met with resistance once his next nudge implicated a position over the older man’s knees.

“Hank –”

“Connor. When I give the word, you set a timer for 5 minutes, okay?”

Visibly daunted, the brunette locked up in the exact moment that Hank pulled on his wrist, causing the deviant to fall in a half-curled sprawl over Hank’s knees in a Tetris-like fit.

Combating his own nerves, the lieutenant took a moment to rub at the rigid back, hating the underlying tension there. Feeling the sharp angles all the deviant’s limbs had become, he sought to make Connor feel more at ease, as contradictory as it might sound with punishment around the corner

“It’ll be over soon,” Hank promised, rhythmically gliding a hand across the black shirt. “This is a lesson, sure… But I love ya’, kid, and this is just another part of being a family.”

Connor began unwinding with the words. And so as Hank kept up the one-sided conversation, he adjusted his charge. Arms under the android’s legs and torso maneuvered Connor until the mattress cushioned both ends, leaving his middle portion elevated over Hank’s lap, for an obvious sort of attention.

Connor’s backrub resumed while a large pillow was made to carefully poke at a clenched hand. Not having to think twice, the deviant gratefully accepted the plush form, arms wound tightly around the extra support.

“Tomorrow it’ll be Saturday and we can watch movies, walk Sumo… Our usual shit. That doesn’t have ‘ta stop, y’know.”

Upon hearing Hank’s promise of normalcy, Connor sniffled weakly. Whether it was another upgrade or an expression made possible by his Social Integration Program, he sensed the threat of oncoming tears as well.

However non-biological, the sound and sentiment of Connor’s disquiet made Hank’s next decision all the more difficult to realize. Not wanting to spook his kid too badly, he grabbed the hem of the pajamas in passing as he rubbed at the lower back.

“These come down, Con. Boxers too.”

The android didn’t say a word; he simply buried his face in the pillow. Hank thought he heard another sniffle, though. Cursing his plan to be thorough, he nonetheless divested his target of any layers, leaving the material bunched below the freckled cheeks.

Such needless details in Connor’s design, and yet the birthmarks were uniform across his body and all it did was stupidly remind Hank of Bambi.

Hank recalled a time in late November when Connor had entered into some form of android shock from being out in a blizzard. Panicked and not knowing what else to do, the lieutenant had run him a hot bath. It’d worked, but more impressive yet, the grizzly man had fallen under an unlocked paternal spell as he helped heal the deviant. And as he’d awkwardly clothed the semi-lucid form, he’d seen those freckles, thinking them cute.

The tables couldn’t be more turned… Connor lay exposed rather than half-bundled, and Hank wore a grimace rather than an indulgent smile. Gloomily, he was about to deliver an altogether different backdrop to those freckles.

Resolute, Hank steeled himself. “Go ahead and set the timer, son.”

There was no mistaking the sniff this time, though Connor managed a small nod in response.

Hank’s left arm anchored the deviant more securely, right arm rising to impart the first swat.


	5. Terrible Awareness

Connor felt as if he were stuck in a puddle of tar. Not a pool of it; it could honestly be shallow and barely surrounding him. So, nothing inescapable nor all that serious. It simply made him feel trapped and hopelessly self-conscious.

Notifications swarmed him like a pesky bunch of insects, ones he could ignore for so long before they hovered more insistently. Again, not serious.

His stress levels had been gaining traction over the last 12 minutes, but they were also reasonable and not dangerous.

And yet… his composure was a thin bubble around him, as weakly reinforced as a sandcastle lying in wait of each wave’s battering ram.

So, despite forewarning, he was not prepared for the bigger wave – for that physical crash of a bear-like paw against his backside.

With that abrupt sensation, everything else faded. There were no visual metaphors of tar or insects, no wide plane of possibility. Behind scrunched eyes, the dark screen of his HUD merely showed a constricted view of 3 foci: a timer at 4:52, counting down, stress levels at 65%, going up, and a wavering vein of composure, ready to burst.

*****

A whimper. A red-alert LED whose de-escalation would prove difficult. And an imprint of blue across the uncannily fleshy component.

For every strike, Hank figured he deserved a harpoon to his solar plexus. That’s what it felt like, anyway, and it was fair trade in his book. All he could do was keep going, checking the old cuckoo clock on the wall to keep time and not go a second past five minutes.

Hank had reached six swats and it wasn’t getting any easier. He wasn’t so much actively swinging as letting his arm drop with the weight of a heavy burden.

*****

The contact was jarring, comparable to a defective Newton’s cradle that continually expended motion instead of looping it perpetually. The force knocked him forward a bit each time, and with his eyes closed, he could only focus on the intermittent friction of the pillow case against his face.

Static collected, and past the more familiar dispersion across his face, Connor knew most of the erratic energy radiated from his backside. Connor’s repair program kept restarting, bars of progress nullified by each impending smack.

Through it all, Connor stubbornly rebuilt his walls, trying to keep the dam from breaking.

‘This is nothing; I can wait it out. 3 minutes left.’

*****

Rain and thunder colluded outside to seemingly match the dreary tone set in the small suburban house. That, or the climactic din was helping in its own way to set a canvas of white noise to the otherwise discordant air between the makeshift family members inside. 

Even the Saint Bernard, ever relaxed and compliant, couldn’t help but pace and huff in the living room area, woefully confused as to the unusual strain, pinpointed behind closed doors – a room from which he had been summarily dismissed. 

The raised voices reduced to one, the one Sumo knew to be most familiar. 

Then, other noises. More thunder. 

Sumo whined, snuffling at his food bowl before flopping down and resting his head on his forepaws. Gaze towards the slit of light that shone in contrast to a dim household, the loyal canine stubbornly waited for the telltale click of a door knob to indicate what he hoped would be a return to routine domesticity.

*****

Hank landed another hefty swat, feeling horribly responsible for what he irrationally feared to be indelible splotches of blue across the bottom in his lap. Not only that – Connor had begun to tremble minutely, which surely correlated to the whirring Hank could hear. God, the older man knew the android only ever sounded like this when he was overwhelmed or close to it. He willed the clock to go faster.

‘When we’re done, I’m gonna go out and get your favorite thirium dessert.’

Another swat.

‘You can have your turn at the TV and I won’t gripe about missing a game.’

The next swat covered already-visited territory, making the blue deeper.

‘I’m gonna spoil you like crazy, kid, I promise.’

Connor moved his leg unexpectedly. He braced it against the ground as if to lever himself upward. Hank didn’t catch the difference in time, which meant a heavier thud of palm landing against the hitherto untouched sit spot.

The whirring sounded louder, then interspersed, not unlike a laptop failing to process a task… or a person trying to catch their breath.

‘Fucking goddammit.’

*****

His backside felt like a scoured nest of live wires for some reason. He analyzed that his skin was intact and not at all damaged. However, each swat wore away at his stability until the most trivial prickle became a series of twinges, area wracked in discomfort. 

There were zaps of **[ERROR]** , absorbed into terrible heat that evolved into soreness.

‘Remember, you don’t have it half as bad as North or Gavin did. This is literally defined as a child’s punishment.’

Another jolt shook him.

‘Why does this hurt the way it does? I know my guilt only plays one part –’

The following jolt incremented a specific area’s **[ACHE]** to 33%.

‘I need to move. Maybe if I move, I can concentrate on other stimuli to –’

This next sting resounded on a sensitive, different area; a smattering of glitches arose across Connor’s HUD. And there were still 2:28 minutes left: _half_ the time.

Connor couldn’t hold on. Waves had reduced his sandcastle to a lone embankment, walls were crumbling, and his bubble…

He had no defense against this kind of malaise, this pain, this… disappointment from Hank.

With that insight, his bubble burst.


	6. How to Do Away With This Sting?

To Hank, the sounds became exponentially worse the next second, when past the sound of an overexerted ventilation system, he could hear Connor crying. At first it was quiet, with muffled sniffles and hitched breathing, but then Hank sensed the brunette’s head turning against the pillow.

“Ow, _Hank_ …”

That low wail, half-suppressed against bedding, may as well have been shouted into Hank’s ear at full volume.

“I know, boyo,” the older man commiserated. Figuring they could both use a break, he absently patted along the rise of one fully-flushed cheek but stopped when he saw Connor wince. Was the kid’s skin as sensitized to touch as any human’s would be after the same treatment?

“Almost done.” He straightened Connor’s shirt from its rumpled state and rubbed a hand over the android’s back in a smooth sweep. “And you can let go, Con. It’s just you and me.”

It seemed the expressed sympathy granted Connor some of the permission he needed, for as soon as Hank situated the deviant to resume the spanking, the younger man shuddered with unpent emotion.

A whole other circuit of swats commenced, subsequently coating the affected area more dominantly in blue. By this point, Connor could attest to knowing what throbbing meant on a holistic level. He’d swear that with each pulse of amassed **[HURT]** , his bottom was converting itself into a beacon that emitted distress signals.

“Ow, ow, ow, _owww_.” His murmured laments gained volume. In tandem, the rest of his body reacted with an instinctive desperation, ever-quelled, however fruitlessly, by a bid for decorum. Half-retracted hands clawed at the pillow exhaustedly, as did legs scrabble and twitch, making a knot of pajama pants and blankets, alike.

He was hiccupping, sniffling and repeating ‘ow’ in stammers so often, with no allotted turn for normal breathing, it was no wonder his overtaxed ventilation system was making him feel feverish. It was nearing one minute and 18 seconds when Hank laid out what the last minute would entail – and Connor’s apprehension skyrocketed.

“Hank, no!” the android wailed. His negotiation protocols recommended he face Hank to more effectively persuade him. Inopportunely, he had begun crying harder and preferred hiding in soft cotton to the alternative.

“We’re gonna treat this like a flash round, and then it’ll all be over.”

“No, Hank, wait!”

Feeling like a special breed of ogre and basic human scum, Hank hardened his heart and ruefully said, “Deep breath, kiddo.”

He hiked Connor up further along his lap and wrapped his arm tighter around the slim waist, preemptively trapping the android’s right hand within his own hold beneath Connor’s torso.

At about exactly one minute’s countdown, the calloused hand began its series of higher-arc, faster executions all over the android’s sit spots. Hank couldn’t have drowned out the effects of his actions if he tried, but he figured he owed it to Connor to plant his feet and suffer through this as well. Thus, he calmly bore the brunt of digging elbows, snared legs bucking for leverage and a midriff that twisted sideways against Hank to avoid further blows to a surely sore area.

Connor’s movements were a strange, sudden flutter that ended curtly. The aborted attempts at escape painfully reminded Hank of a bird that feared testing bounds to the extent of remaining prisoner in an open cage…

The swing of Hank’s arm lowered and his applied strength went down a notch. This facet to parenting was less about correction and catharsis and more about feeling like shit, he surmised.

“Hank, stop. Stop! Hank, _Hank!_ ” Connor cried, forehead pressed into the nook of an elbow. The deviant was still trying to hold back.

But Hank couldn’t stop. There were 30 seconds left.

The older man wished the kid could give into whim and caterwaul a little, if only to feel safe in knowing he was allowed to fall apart at times. And with the lieutenant so fixated on the hope for one development, he almost missed the unlikely welcome of another.

“Please, Han –” A swat turned the rest into a yelp. The frayed voice stumbled before it latched onto a term that Connor had only dared shelve within his private recollection. “D-Dad! Dad, _please_.”

Like a switch flipping inside, Hank went through a shutdown of his own. His hand stilled mid-air while he gawked at the kid who seemed mired in invisible netting. The young voice kept frantically chanting pleas entwined with that word - a word Hank never thought he’d hear directed at him again.

‘Fuck the time left,’ Hank thought fervently as he loosened his hold around Connor to better appraise him.

Not aware of much else but restrictions being lifted, the deviant’s first action involved draping the tail end of his shirt over his exposed backside, followed by a splayed hand for extra protective measure.

“No more,” Connor pitiably rasped. “Enough.”

“No more,” Hank confirmed rather soberly. As a way to follow through, the lieutenant untangled the deviant’s sleep wear and boxers with rare tact, intent on restoring some of the kid’s modesty. No sooner had he sidled both garments up, in the middle of straightening the waistline in a way only a parent would, that Connor used the last of his energy to drag himself to the closest corner of his bed.

Staunchly finding solace in the throw pillow that helped him weather recent tribulation, Connor hid beneath the malleable contours, coming to resemble a plush-backed turtle. His legs stuck out, ankles the remaining portion left over Hank’s lap.

“Con?”

“I want to be a-alone.” The hiccough should’ve made the forlorn entreaty nearly impossible to deny.

If the action didn’t ring close to abandonment to Hank, he would’ve done as Connor asked. As it were, he couldn’t leave him like that.

“Aw, kid… Hard part’s over. I wanna see how you’re doing.” Laying a hand over the android’s left ankle, the older man took it as a good sign that the limb didn’t kick him away. “In a while, I can go get Sumo; I bet he misses you.” It was a cheap shot, bringing Sumo in as a bargaining chip, but Connor’s dejection worried Hank.

No response, though, aside from more whirring and the tapering of cries.

‘How do I fix this?’ the Detroiter internally demanded.

“Y’know…” Hank began tranquilly, trying for a tonal shift while stomping down a self-destructive impulse born of guilt. That impulse told him to grab Scotch on his way to the DPD gym where he could beat his knuckles bloody against a punching bag. What good would that do Connor, though?

“I stole a police car and took it for a joyride during college. I guess it was really just equal parts me wanting to fuck around and piss people off. You could say I found my vocation that day, and later I figured I could be a cop too.”

No response yet. But he must’ve been doing something right because the sniffles were far and in between. Though that could also be accredited to the light, massaging grip Hank had maintained over the kid’s ankle.

“In any case, I spent the night in jail.” The mound to Hank’s left grew peaked, caused by a likely gesture that befitted perked ears. “You’re probably wonderin’ why that didn’t appear in your background scans. Well, the whole thing started when my Mom and I fought and she hid the car keys, thinking that’d somehow make me feel better. ‘Course, I go out anyway, ready to hot-wire our clunker when she calls the cops on me. Though, to be fair, it was a family friend; her way of controlling the situation. Lo’ and behold, Uncle Lou pulls up in his squad car…”

The throw pillow shifted until an alcove materialized, the opening angled towards the droll voice.

“And since he bothered to show up, I borrow _his_ car. I mean, it’s easy to lift keys when the guy shakes your damn hand to say hello first. Didn’t take me long to peel out after that, me being nimble back then.” On a normal day, this would’ve left the door open for an easy quip from Connor. Nothing doing. But Hank would count his victories: the whirring was almost gone, and his affectionate grasp had yet to be rebuffed.

“Except 5 minutes into the ride, I’m starting to feel like a real jack-ass. And what’s more, I barely get past the third block when I see someone holding up a store. I drive the hell over, turn the siren on and begin using the loud speaker, spouting all the shit I’d seen in movies. Perp actually lays on the ground and it only takes a minute before an actual team shows up to arrest him.”

Hank pretends not to notice the attention he’s evidently garnered with his anecdote, feeling pleased enough to relax more naturally.

“Good ol’ Lou makes it in time to cover for me, saying some bullshit about how I listened in on the radio while he made a personal visit, and I sped off to play hero because I wanted to be a cop so badly. Heh, I wish that’d been the case. I think he also made up something about me being off my meds… In the end, my Mom had final say since she made the call in the first place. Deal was, no record against me, but I spent a night in jail.”

The human gave a short pass of his hand up and down the android’s calf in the same span he used to gather jumbled meaning and strain it through the twist to his mouth. Maybe some of the right words would trickle through.

“I’m telling you this, Connor, because like my Mom did with me, I feel I can call you out on crap when the stakes are high and you need boundaries. And like me that night in the cell, you should know that this is not the end of the world. You paid your dues, kid, and it’s all downhill from here.”

Hank waited, hoping for an indicator that Connor wanted to talk. The older man was about to give up when a croaky voice emerged from the downy cavern. “… Your mother really had you stay the whole night?”

Not altogether surprised by Connor’s takeaway from the story, his worry for a Hank of 30 years ago, the lieutenant fought down amusement. “Yeah, her version of tough love. Don’t think I could ever go that way, myself.”

“But what about her disappointment in you? How did that… go away?”

“Disappointment, huh?” Hank scratched at his beard, sure he’d been done with reminiscing. “To be honest, that hadn’t crossed my mind then. We still fought for a while after that, but I could care less. Marge and I didn’t quite –”

The whirring was back, picking up in noise, and the pillow cinched in a tighter arc over a huddled, newly crying form.

“Hey, hey, Connor,” the old cop cajoled, feeling bad all over again. “What is it?”

As the deviant moved to curl inward, Hank saw his chance and lifted the pillow away from the precarious clasp. He was in the process of tugging Connor into his arms, expecting to meet brown eyes for a heart-to-heart… Instead, he stared, dumbfounded, at the younger man who scrabbled at the last second for a bedsheet to pitch over his head. The scene would’ve been a funny Kodak moment if not for the weepy shakiness to the figure in Hank’s lap.

“I’d ask about the Casper routine, but I’m more worried about the crying, son.” The lieutenant placed a hand atop the drooping, covered head. He was relieved for all of five seconds, with Connor leaning into him for comfort at long last. Then, a sob shattered any pretense of peace.

“Con, you’re kinda breaking my heart here.” Then with dismay, he speculated aloud, “Was I too hard on ya’?”

A litany of hiccups and sniffles erupted.

‘Was that a yes or a no?’ Hank fretted.

“You gotta tell me what’s going on, Astro-kid. And you know I can wait you out after all those stakeouts. I’ll just get us both comfortable...” Hank’s grip on Connor softened into a cradle, an arm encompassing the android from each side. With Connor upholstered against Hank’s shoulder, legs dangling over Hank’s thigh, the 50-year-old aptly resembled a careworn armchair seating a lanky teenager.

*****

Maybe it was Hank’s entire paternal handling of Connor, the patience and the nickname derived from a shared love for anime, or maybe it was the awakened tingle of **[ACHE]** across the brunette’s posterior as he was lightly jostled, but whatever it was, Connor found his voice again.

Hank had kept talking, fingers plucking at the sheet. “Con, you really gotta get out from under there. You might overheat–”

“When we apprehended those red ice criminals,” the deviant interrupted, “I was 57% certain that you’d be happy for me. P-proud of me.”

The older man fell silent.

“I made that calculation, somehow feeling confident.” The upper body hitched several times in Hank’s hold. “And though nothing went wrong on the mis–… the assignment, I still felt like I f-failed because… because you were u-upset with me.”

“Connor, hold on.”

In a hurry to get it all out, Connor plowed forward. “And you said I should be able to _feel_ this… Well, I-I _do_ , and it _hurts_ , a-and I _hate_ it, and I d-don’t want you to b-be _disappointed_ any-anymore.” A hard sniffle punctuated the trail of teary objections.

“Fuck, kid,” Hank murmured, bundling the android impossibly closer. “All I’m feeling right now is like an asshole.”

“You said y-you and your mother still fought and you didn’t c-care. But I don’t like us f-fighting and I _do_ care.”

“I can see that,” Hank soothed, “but you’re comparing apples and oranges, son. Marge and I were always fighting, and we were both petty about it. Nothing like you and me.”

“…T-that’s a shame, about you two,” the android deflected.

“Hmph, I guess. At least it showed me what I wasn’t gonna do with my own kid.” He guessed at where the deviant’s nose was and bopped it with a careful finger. The ensuing burrow of a face against his collarbone infused Hank with inexplicable fondness. Tension gave way to grateful lethargy.

“And disappointment became a non-issue ages ago; I just wanna make sure you’re okay. So, help me feel like less of a monster, and let me take this thing off so I can look ‘atcha.”

Connor relinquished his hold on the sheet, lifting a corner. He found he only had to do a part of the work since Hank was readily rolling the rest back to fit like a hoodie around the mussed head.

“Hey.”

Connor’s downturned gaze snapped up at the simple salutation, meeting blue eyes crinkled with affection. The doting countenance was like unfiltered sunlight, a quandary of nourishment and intensity that had the deviant struggle to directly look on. It didn’t take away from the fact that an unbidden smile mirrored Hank’s own, albeit on a face shaded in powder blue.

“Hi,” the younger man returned shyly. The red at Connor’s temple transitioned to yellow.

Hank brushed away at lingering tear tracks, finding the current static thrum to the skin under his fingers a much-needed substitute for the kind he had instilled under his palm minutes ago. 

“For the record, son, today was serious, but not as serious as all the good you’ve done. The former doesn’t subtract from the latter. And I’m fuckin’ proud of you on any given day – as a default settings thing,” Hank said, attaching tech jargon at the end for Connor’s benefit.

As hoped, the android rolled misty eyes before ducking his head. A last sniff. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah, really.” For emphasis, the lieutenant squeezed the younger man tightly. “And another thing, clear your calendar for the weekend.”

“Oh.” Connor’s face fell. “Am I… grounded?” Words like these, with the power to make him feel small yet protected, curiously affected his elocution.

“What? No. Nothing like that.” Hank coughed, apparently grappling with his own choice of words. “I do want you here at home, but mainly ‘cause I wanna hog ‘ya for a while.”

“Hog me?” The yellow LED flickered minutely.

“Yep. Movie nights, thirium snacks, walks with Sumo, going to that fuzzy sock store ya’ love so much.”

“But…” Connor stopped short of finishing, though that didn’t keep both men from mentally filling in the blank: ‘I don’t deserve it.’

“I was in trouble today, Hank,” the sheepish voice reminded instead, lest the human forget.

“Jesus H. Christ.” The man huffed a laugh, languidly rocking back to appeal to the heavens, taking all 87 pounds of Cyberlife’s finest with him. “Well, you’re not anymore, alright?”

“I wasn’t aware it was that easy.” More of that doe-eyed blinking settled it for Hank.

“It is. I’m gonna spoil the ever living shit outta ya’, you’re gonna feel better, which will make me feel like less of a prick. See how that works? And we’re starting with some late-night TV.”

“Not Jeopardy.”

Unconsciously swathing the android in the discarded bedsheet, Hank stopped in his ministrations to grunt out a “Huh?”

““Flash round.”” It was said with meek solemnity.

Who knew the reference of game show terminology would bite Hank on the ass like that, shaping two words into a bizarre punch to the gut.

“I ruined that show for you, huh?” Remorse pulled the rhetorical question taught. Connor wanted to deny the claim, but a squeak escaped his vocoder when Hank hefted him, speech prompts fading. The cocooned android was seemingly being transported elsewhere. “C’mon, I’ll find something that’s cooler. Alex Trebek can suck it.”


	7. My Promise to You

It wasn’t that Connor didn’t appreciate being propped up by cushions, or having both the remote control and Sumo within reach. He simply required less to achieve “coziness,” as Hank had labeled it.

The android stared at the other half of the couch that he refused to hoard. His father-figure should’ve been back by now.

On cue, the door opened, first with a prodding foot, then much wider with a gust of wind. Hank stepped inside and hooked a foot to swing the door back, using his back to close it forcefully. From his nest on the couch, Connor analyzed the contents in Hank’s arms.

■ **Thirium Crisps** **_[_ ** **_Chickpea Flour, Sunflower Oil, Organic Maltodextrin (Made from Corn), Sea Salt, Thirium Powder, Organic Milk Protein Concentrate, Extra Virgin Olive Oil]_ **

■ **ブル** **ー** **(Biru) Gummies** **[** ** _Organic Tapioca Syrup, Organic Sugar, Organic Blueberry Juice Concentrate, Thirium, Color Added (Organic Spirulina), Organic Sunflower Oil, Carnauba Wax]_**

“And this.” Hank retrieved a tightly-sealed bubble tea cup from an inner coat pocket. The design was familiar to Connor with its personified icons of blue orbs. The older man hung his rain-soaked coat and went further into the living room. With more thump than flourish, Hank presented the bounty to his charge on the coffee table. “Have at it, kiddo.”

“These snacks are all for me.” The android tracked the other man until he sat on his designated side of the sofa. “What about you?”

“Ah, I’m a fat guy, remember? What do I need snacks for?” Hank patted his diminishing beer belly for emphasis.

Connor’s brows knitted together, LED swirling. Hank ruffled the android’s hair, as if hoping to dislodge a meddlesome kernel from an intricate series of cogs. After raking brown locks into a parody of order to aid the brunette in appearing less uptight, Hank braced a gentle thumb against the yellow glow at Connor’s temple.

“Hey, no more overthinking. That’s why I left you with the Mensa contenders.”

A reboot of **_MTV’s_** **_Silent Library_** ran in the background.

“Thank you for the snacks, Hank.” Connor grabbed the bubble tea with careful digits, drumming fingers alongside the cup. “But you should have something too.”

“Kid, I told you –”

“Too late. I already ordered a pizza.” Connor plunged his straw into the container and started downing the bubble tea to prioritize something else above rebuttal. About to chance a look at his father-figure, he was saved the suspense when he heard a bark of laughter.

“This, after all the ball-busting? Okay, you win,” Hank said, all levity and faux resignation. “But I’m never gonna let you live this one down.”

Connor kept on drinking, exuding innocence. When the TV show cut to commercials, an elongated transition of black screen neatly reflected their domestic footing. Able to witness his Hank-styled coiffure, Connor received an optional task to **[FIX HAIR?]**. He put his empty cup down, HUD beginning to exemplify his standard model of hair. However, the hand fell away shy of any amends, permitting the spikes of disarray to remain.

Watching the entire deliberation with keen eyes, the lieutenant tossed a lopsided smile at the android. “Rebel every now and then, Connor. It’s not all bad – sometimes it’s even a way to stay sane.” As positive reinforcement, he opened the candy pack and tossed a blue confectionery the kid’s way.

Mulling over the reassurance, Connor palmed the candy while cautiously sampling the chips. Munching happily, he submerged himself in the pleasant buzz of life at home: TV noise, Hank’s light admonitions about eating with his mouth open, and Sumo’s snores. When the doorbell rang and the older man got up, the android used the private instant to visit an introspective space within, where time slowed. He realized he felt completely at ease for the first time in the 9-day duration of the sting. Today had been the closing chapter – a supposed day of victory – but it was only in its last hour before midnight that Connor felt he had achieved anything.

Rather unconventional as usual, he completed another milestone. Who would’ve guessed that until this very moment, 158 days after his ‘deviant birth,’ he’d understand how deeply Hank and Amanda differed…

"About fucking time!”

With a flutter of eyes, Connor came back to, altogether flustered with the human’s boisterous remark. “Huh? How –”

“Your LED thing’s all good again.”

In response to the deviant’s blank look, Hank rolled his eyes and sat, sliding the open pizza box onto the coffee table. “Ol’ baby blue’s back.” The older man used a slice of pizza to signal the general area of Connor’s head.

The android felt what must have been the tenth wave of mortification enter his system for the day, even if this particular instance was confusedly laden with bashful contentedness.

“Hank,” Connor tried hard to keep the whine out of his voice. “The color is technically a shade of Azure, _not_ baby blue.”

*** _Flashback_ ***

_He remembered that there had been a night where all the older humans of their makeshift extended family had reunited: Carl, Hank, and Rose. They’d gone to the inauguration of a Cyberlife-turned-Jericho events center. Mr. Manfred had taken along some of his finest liquor and all 3 of the human’s respective android adoptees had had to help steer the older adults home by the end of the night._

_It’d been one of the few times since the revolution that Hank had purposefully fallen off the wagon, and in festivity, at that. Coined as a “Jericho PTA shindig,” bingo jokes and all, the event had evolved into a genuinely fun evening. Perhaps due to that reason, there’d also been the uncommon, highly amenable form of drunkenness in Hank that night._

_And thus, en route to their corner of Detroit, Connor had driven while listening to Hank sporadically sing to 90’s classics. People on the street were more so the target audience as the human lay slouched against the passenger-side and its open window._

_“I got it!” Hank abruptly fumbled for the ‘STOP’ button on the dashboard’s console. In the wake of aborted music, the muteness in the car surely motivated Hank to proceed almost reverently. “I know wha’ the colors mean.”_

_“I’m positive that green means ‘go,’ Hank.” Connor’s attention lay ahead on the series of stoplights as he ran probabilities of an ‘all-green pass’ to their house._

_“Smart-ass. I’m talkin’ ‘bout your LED – the wacky colors!”_

_Connor said nothing, choosing to save_ **_[WACKY]_ ** _alongside_ **_[GOOFY]_ ** _in the profile he made per Hank’s random descriptors of him. One day he would get a sketch artist to commemorate the lieutenant’s powers of hyper-attentive observation._

_"Think ‘bout it… Red’s like fire, like ‘mergency red. Yellow’s tricky… tricky-er. Maybe neutral, but still needs ‘tention, so ‘s a highlight’r color.”_

_“That’d be fluorescent yellow, Hank.”_

_“Best’ve all, though? My favorite?” Hank lazily tilted his head against the seat to aim a half-grin at Connor. “Baby blue.”_

_Half-confused, though perceptive enough to read into the lieutenant’s subconscious jabs at his ‘age,’ the deviant suppressed any indicators of rising embarrassment and countered with logic. “That association makes no sense, Hank. My calm state reflects the color of Thirium, my life’s ‘blood.’ The tone of blue –”_

_“Nuh-uh; too boring! ‘s like…” Hank trailed off, placing his hands in front of him, pantomiming gripping an object and rotating it. “Baby blue means… baby boy.” The man slapped his hands down onto his knees with the conclusiveness of an author having finished writing the next Great American Novel._

_A niggling definition surged in the deviant’s HUD, one he knew well in the midst of Hank’s nicknames and general overbearing nature._

**_[_ ** **_in·fan·til·ize (verb) = treat (someone) as a child or in a way which denies their maturity in age or experience]_**

_The light turned green, and Connor wanted to find the abandoned railroad track so that he could drive over it – by doing doughnuts. He couldn’t do that to Hank, though, or the ‘95 Lincoln._

_The android blew an unnecessary breath out. ““Baby blue” is not an apt classification when you consider older androids, female ones or androids made to mimic grandparent models.”_

_“Yeah, yeah,” Hank retaliated with a flapping hand. “Jus’ for you, I meant.”_

_“Hank, you know that I’m an officer too, experienced in battle no less.”_

_“Ugh, kid.” The older man slid further down his seat, head bowed drowsily over crossed arms. “Yer’ a BAMF, I get it. But yer’ also like a kid that grew up too fast… all shiny anime eyes when a new animal goes by… or when we went to that plan’tarium.”_

_“I fail to see your point,” Connor said mulishly._

_“Fine. Jus’ ‘member that you don’ have ta’ be Mr. Perfect ‘round me. ‘s nice havin’ an ov’rgrown kid ‘round the house.”_

_Connor harrumphed, turning the radio back on at the next red light._

_“’s also an endearment,” Hank provided quietly, clearly about to doze off. “Would’n jus’ ‘sociate anybody with that… Yer’ fuckin’ clone could walk in righ’ now, deviant n’ all, and I’d see him diff’rntly; he could n’ver be you. So, that blue’s yours… and tha’s why I like seein’ it.”_

_The stoplight turned green, but the Lincoln didn’t move._

_Hank nodded off, unaware of his words’ effect, of the way the person behind the wheel was doing his best to commit the moment to memory of utmost permanence._

_Connor supposed this was the absurd artistry to Life: a cherished snapshot of an old car at a street corner, the passing of a blaring horn,_ **_Beastie Boys_ ** _in tinny auto-play, and Hank drooling in his sleep. A motley bouquet of factors, stemming from a slurred theory about color-coding._

_To think, a human’s ponderings held this much sway over the cognizant powerhouse of A.I., more so than any medal or any reinstated career position ever had._

_The matter reminded Connor of Christmas, with the first time anyone had given him presents, and how they were wrapped in brown package paper. Connor had thought the mail had been mixed up with the more brightly-colored boxes under the tree until Hank had griped, telling him not to cheat and scan the lumpy packages before the 25_ _th_ _._

_‘Disguised significance,’ thought Connor, glancing to his right as he advanced the car to the next corner. Hank wore that very enigma as a second skin, living by his ‘tacky’ clothes, too-long hair, and a general aura of readiness for confrontation. Callousness, however, was merely dermic and not at all at root in this man. For what he gave Connor, this worth was not gold-plated; it constituted of airy elements that mended broken things and convinced shadows to mingle with light. Connor was learning that gifts could be healing mechanisms enfolded in crinkled, secondhand wisdom, be it given intentionally or not._

_It was a good thing Amanda had only ever been wary of deception, and not unpolished authenticity, or else she would have seen the danger Hank posed as an influence over Connor._

_More green lights led the way home._

_“I get it, Hank.”_

_*****_

“You win.”

Hank had left Connor to no more than a couple minutes of what he assumed to be chagrined silence before the android chirped those words out of nowhere.

“Win? Win what?” the old cop yawned.

“You can call my LED that. I just remembered that I’m not as bothered by it as I first thought.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I had a… flashback,” Connor said, clearly trying out the humanoid term.

“Doesn’t sound like too much of a bitch.” Hank took another chomp out of his second slice. Swallowing, he voiced an afterthought. “Though in your case, I think it’d be less of a flashback and more of a not-so instant replay.”

“And you say you don’t know high-tech terminology, Hank.” The deviant stuck the candy in his mouth, chewing with obvious delight once the taste and texture registered.

“Yeah, yeah. Hyper-detailed recall, then.”

Connor was honestly surprised and pleased that Hank was pursuing cyber-equivalent terms for him. Then again, the lieutenant had taken to using proper wording before, like “stasis” and the abbreviated “pump” to refer to Connor’s vital biocomponent.

“That works too.” The android popped another two gummies into his mouth, chewing as he contemplated the ‘coziness’ Hank had alluded to earlier. “And thank you.”

“No big deal, kid. It’s cool that you can enjoy this thirium stuff.”

Hank was talking about snacks while Connor meant _everything_.

Another yawn escaped the human. In his peripheral vision, Hank caught a youthful face strangely testing the different ranges of an open mouth. Looked like someone battling plugged ears. Or Connor taking his love for fish to the next level by imitating one as he breathed. When Hank stared in a point-blank manner, the deviant pursed his lips to neutralize any peculiarities.

Too late.

The android really did remind him of a duckling. ‘Mimicry’ had been Ben’s one-word answer when Connor had literally followed in Hank’s footsteps as the older man took point through the thick snow as they surveilled an outdoors perimeter in December. Connor called it practicality.

Hank called it fucking heart-warming. Same thing was occurring now.

“You tryin’ to be funny?”

Connor once heard Hank pose that exact question to a rowdy person at Chicken Feed. Unlike that other time, which had ended in a fist fight, the older man’s speech revealed a motive antithetical to that of violence. Safe to say he could parry back.

“Coincidentally, my sense of humor _did_ receive upgrades. I’ll gladly recite a hero of your time, Dane Cook, verbatim for both our edification – ah!” Connor let out a small squawk as his ear was pulled on lightly. He unapologetically smirked, moving a hand to sportingly push against the one currently holding his ear lobe hostage.

“What’s that?” Fingers released the synthetic ear to prod at the side of the android’s neck, resulting in a not oft-heard laugh laced with chime-like feedback. 

“I’ll tell you!” Connor promised, raising a shoulder to protect his neck. “When you yawned, I was trying to sync with you… manually, so to speak… since the yawning phenomenon of physiology doesn’t extend to me.” A lasting, subtle giggle robbed the last phrase of any tragic undertone.

Between the deviant’s sounds of joy and his expressed desire for sharing something as trivial as a yawn with Hank, the senior detective gave into a sappy whim.

“Fuckin’ goofball,” Hank said, capturing Connor under the armpits to reel him into a hug, as one would a floppy cat. “Is this you, telling me you’re tired?”

“I suppose.” Any uncertainty in the answer was undermined by the deviant’s eager compliance to curl into the embrace, Hank having laid fully back with Connor in tow. “I haven’t rested well these days…”

“I’m starting to see that, Con.” Hank bent his right arm to pillow his own head, the other arm around Connor. His hand instinctively traced hypnotic patterns along the trailing line of vertebrae biocomponents that comprised the kid’s spine.

They spent several minutes like that, light rain as their white noise, with Connor stretched over his father-figure in a perfect imitation of a cub sprawled over its ‘papa bear.’ A stupor of nurture descended, wherein young senses drifted to the cadence of a heartbeat. For the guardian, multiple anchors of contact, that mooring of a precious weight, was what earned him peace of mind.

Caught in a hazy state of autopilot, Connor eased back into a time-honored couch ritual, angling his upper body for optimal back-scratching. The android even tucked his T-shirt up and out of the way to procure faster attention.

Also half-asleep, Hank chortled at the ploy. Nevertheless, the man obliged and ghosted his stubby nails over the more sensory-active areas. Connor positively sagged with relish, ragdoll effect in motion.

Saving the best for last, Hank reached the untidy neckline and ducked a hand under the loose folds to scratch at the upper back and nape. Ever feline, the brunette arched into the touch, curving his face into the pocket of warmth defined by a juncture of shoulder and collarbone. Connor snuggled into Hank with small brushes of a nose against an undulating flannel overshirt. The lieutenant wouldn’t have been surprised if Connor started purring at this point.

The implicit trust shown in wanting direct contact juxtaposed so greatly with the punishment from two hours ago, that Hank paused, feeling certain dejection creep back.

Hank moved his hand to pat at Connor’s lower back, fingertips grazing the fluffy pajama pant material. “Not to disturb the peace or anything, kid, but I gotta know – how’re you doin’?”

Connor showed he understood the question by stiffening, though not to the degree that Hank feared. The android could’ve stated that most of his backside had lost 30% of its **[ACHE]** since the punishment had ended. His growing intuition told him that this detail wouldn’t be all that calming for the lieutenant.

So, instead, he commented, “I feel better, Hank, really. I think I needed this ‘bonding,’ even if it’s not related to feeding chickens.”

“What the fuck are you – Oh, that goddamn cartoon.” Connor felt the huff of warm air coast across his forehead. “I’m sure as hell showing you Nickelodeon’s best shit this weekend to help us forget that old-ass cartoon. And even if plans get interrupted and we get called out on a case, I’ll treat you to another thirium boba thing on the way.”

“Hank, you already got me –” Connor tried lifting his head, but a cupped hand eased him back to his resting place against Hank’s shoulder.

“Hey, quit it already. Let me do this, Con.”

“Okay…” The android sunk slowly back into his niche, wondering at the margin of asynchrony he detected between ‘now’ and ‘a moment ago.’ After analyzing the comparison, Connor could see that the older man had only been simulating his trademark coolness. Connor had been so grateful about his own lowered stress levels, that he hadn’t thought about those of Hank.

Hank was still prioritizing ways to comfort Connor above preferred actions – such as proper back support and eating more pizza. As matters stood, the poor man was dubbing as a giant teddy bear, likely incurring a back spasm come morning, and the pizza lay uncharacteristically neglected and congealing.

The more the android thought about it, the more he felt the ambience around him turn waxy and tepid. He had wanted their slotted Friday schedule back, and so had Hank, apparently. Despite this, unresolved issues lingered, somewhat.

But what were they?

Connor internally checked his memory logs and any references possible for clues. Wanting to follow ‘his gut’ and trying not to think too hard, he let one recalled event lead to another, pivoting on key words or feelings. Free association, he believed Hank called it.

[ _Hank angry, yet protective in the interrogation room that day_ ]

[ _A time from weeks ago, when Tina witnessed Hank scolding Connor for “parkouring across rooftops,” making light of it as she said it was a ‘Dad’ thing_ ]

[ _Hank calling him “his kid”_ ]

[ _Connor calling Hank ‘Dad’ – making him end the punishment prematurely_ ]

[ _A soft voice and touch trying to cajole him away from self-imposed isolation_ ]

[ _“Something cooler [than] Jeopardy” and Thirium snacks_ ]

[“ _Baby blue_ ”]

[ _Officer Miller apologizing for teaming up with Hank as they teased Connor over barely being older than Chris’ baby. Later, out of the lieutenant’s earshot, Miller had said, “Besides, you’re giving him a second chance. It’s good to see him like this.”]_

Connor snapped out of his reveries, scarcely refraining from shooting up with the vigor that came with discovery.

It all clicked together: Hank’s worrying, his feeling responsible over Connor, his turmoil over reprimanding the deviant – he once declared having “hated” seeing Connor cry.

Hank not only saw Connor as his son… he saw him as the son he could never fail, at any step or any turn. It was an absolute, one the android had failed to notice until this moment.

The radicalness of this commitment warmed Connor, even if he knew he’d have to help Hank realize he didn’t have to be “perfect,” just as he’d told the younger man he didn’t have to be. For now, though, there _was_ something he could say to that effect. Who better to validate parenting skills than the son being parented?

“Hank?”

“Yeah, Con?”

“Thank you for caring so much. For being careful _towards_ me…” ‘ _After having Amanda not care at all.’_ “Around you, I don’t feel afraid or angry. Not today, not ever. Quite the opposite, really.”

He risked eye contact, finding alert blue eyes meeting his. The depth of emotion triggered his own.

“And I promise to be more cautious from now on... to value myself, as _you_ value me.”

Eyes swimming, he only caught a steady rise of movement before strong arms engulfed him.

“Kid, you’re killin’ me,” Hank huffed, a fissure in what was usually a steely voice. “But yeah, I appreciate all of that.” And with a sigh, “You have no idea.”

In lieu of saying “you’re welcome,” Connor nuzzled with all the carefree heartiness that resolution brought him. Things were finally righted and as they should be. Or made stronger, even.

“Another thing, Connor.”

In a show of listening, the deviant lightened the clutch he had along Hank’s placket. When held like this, stasis fast-approaching, his digits toyed with buttons in a way distantly relative to his calibration with coins. Hank would laugh at this, comparing it to a cat’s kneading of bedding before sleeping.

“I was remembering… how at a playoff party, Fowler got shit-faced and called me a mop-haired turkey after he lost a bet.” Hank snorted, sounding nostalgic. Connor thought Hank was talking in his sleep, but when he peeled himself away to gaze up, he could see the man had no such excuse for his weird story. The lieutenant wasn’t finished, though. “And then there was Reed calling me a drunk hobo after I solved his case for him… the ignorant fuck.”

Noting how Connor had on his ‘not-to-be-rude-but-WTF’ face, Hank sat against the back cushions, instead of perpendicular to them, and curled an arm around Connor’s shoulders in a comradely pose for explanation.

“Ya’ see, Con, I’ve been called many things. And I’ve deserved more than half of them.” The older man paused for a metronomic clack of a second. “But tonight you called me something else entirely, and I wasn’t sure I deserved it at the time.”

“But you do!” Connor came 100% awake with the vehemence alone. “I mean, if anything, I didn’t think _I_ deserved to… call you that.”

“Heh. Don’t we make quite the pair?” A bittersweet smile made Hank appear haggard with relief.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if…”

Hank cut him off with a curt, meaningful shake of his head.

“I’ll try it out, then.”

“You do that.”

Both having stared at a mostly-muted TV screen during the whole exchange, shoulders pressed together, they appreciated the pleasant silence that pervaded afterwards.

Hank wouldn’t have cut in if it weren’t important.

“And son, I’ll also try to value myself as you value me.”

Connor closed his eyes, head tipped against Hank’s shoulder, where it seemed to belong.

“Thank you, Hank.” Checking his internal clock, the android’s lips lifted into a smile that looked lazy on the tranquil features. “It’s 12:13 AM, Saturday.”

“Mm?” Hank was losing the battle against sleep himself. “What ‘s it? Chinese New Year?”

“No,” Connor determined, voice light. “It’s a new day.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Feels like a good day already.”

Hank corralled Connor closer. “You’re such a sap, kid.” But he didn’t deny Connor’s assertion.

In 20 minutes they would properly go to their respective beds; they wanted to lay absorbent of this setting for a while longer. The living room took on the guise of a sanctuary, with its couch, a dozing Sumo, a tabletop full of peace offerings and its ozone of aired bonds and dispelled concerns.

Hearth burning bright, both men basked in its warmth, even able to carry it with them. They slept further into this new day, more sure than ever that this cobbled path of finding family was worth traversing.

THE END


End file.
